Bright Lights: Stories I Wrote For Prompts & Contests

Valentine's Day Contest 2019

Written for dangerouslove's Valentine Contest, "A Chapel Murder on Valentine's" was inspired by the quote "Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day," by Justin Wench. With a word count of 1,625, this was a new kind of story for me - the darker kind. I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for this prompt - this opportunity!

~*~

Blood dribbled down my white kid-gloves, dripping into a puddle beside my boots. My eyes glazed, I lifted my fingers to lick the little pearls of scarlet. Jason's blood had a metallic tang to it, as if his veins had once been filled with salt, blood and the gun-polish he'd always carried around everywhere.

The grey alleyway seems to expand as he took his last breath. I glanced down at his limp body as his eyes flickered to mine - and faded. He had blue doll's eyes. I remembered how much I had always loved gazing into them, and for a moment, my throat felt choked.

As teenagers, we'd stride into parties, me hanging off his arm. Giddy with the inertia of our excitement, we'd drop into a bar. "One shot of Irish whiskey and a purple hooter for the lady," he'd wink at me, eyes black - black as the night; black as the coffee he drank every morning.

Same procedure - every time. Even when the love started to dissolve and his heart turned to black.

This morning, he'd worn the same broad sleeves as we tumbled into the nearest bar down one murky avenue. "Where are we?" I'd asked. The excitement had long gone, replaced with murky dread.

"Some main street," Jason murmured. "I know the way. Trust me, love."

My heart would've melted if I could've believed a single word he said. His hands tugged at mine roughly, pulling me further. "I've chosen you over and over," I hissed, and this time I didn't try to hide what I thought; didn't know whose eyes gleamed blackest. The bar's doorway passed over us - a thin wooden beam. Inside, the lights glowed dimly like drowning stars. "You could at least make an effort."

"I love you, Jen - really do," he slurred, and I tugged at his greasy fingers. He pulled up short, then raised thick eyebrows. I'd painted them once in a secluded bathroom with a black pencil liner. The mirror had been murky, wonky, and we'd laughed at our distorted reflections. I blinked as my eyes latched back onto Jason's stout form.

I followed in the tracks of his lumbering gait, my eyes drilling into his nape. "My Dad just died. I feel like I'm drowning - and all you want is another whiskey, another laugh," I seethed. "Have you no compassion?"

"I'm a grown man. Emotions don't mean anything to me."

"You're disgusting." I couldn't stop myself from going further, "Every day, I've chosen you - when you needed me, when I told you not to do something, and you did it anyway. I've been tortured by love - forced myself into vulnerability, overcome fear!" I wasn't done, but Jason's chuckle brought me up short.

"Much good it did you," he laughed, and he sat himself down on a bar stool, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

Black teared at every corner of my chest. I heard Dad's voice - Dad's lost, dead voice, whispering to keep calm and carry on. He'd always told me to trust my instinct. But I'd thought Jason was right, and I'd been playing his game for too long. "Do you even know what day it is?" I whispered. "Valentine's."

"Another precious saint." Jason laughed even harder. My fingers closed around the glass of purple hooter he'd ordered for me. While he took a slog of his whiskey, I burned. Before I could stop myself, my drink had spilled out of my cup in a whirlwind of pink juice, vodka and ice cubes. They slapped against Jason's lapel in a burst of alcoholic scent. He gulped - and his laughter grew thunderous. Yet no-one looked in our direction.